Chapter 17

Thanksgiving Day opened with a light covering of snow. The runner in me didn’t like it. The hunter loved it. We would be able to see rabbit and pheasant tracks, and if we were really lucky a fox. I did my indoor exercise, cleaned up and got dressed for a morning outside.

The house had wonderful aromas. Mum had been up since four o’clock to get the turkey in the oven. Dad and Denny were already up and good to go. Dad had scrambled eggs and bacon along with hash browns on the stove.

The only change to this annual ritual was that I now automatically had coffee with my breakfast. Denny kept going over to the corner where our shotguns were. You could tell he wanted to load his and go hunting.

Instead, we ate breakfast then cleaned our guns. Dad insisted on this. We didn’t go out regularly like we used to so it had been months since they had been fired. He wanted to know they were clean and in good working order before he would allow them in the field.

Finally, it was time to go. Dad and I put on our yellow hunting jackets with the game pockets and loops for shotgun shells. Our licenses were pinned to the back. Denny put on his old ratty outdoor play coat.

Mum stopped him, “What do you think you are doing boyo? Why aren’t you wearing your new coat?”

This stopped Denny in his tracks, “My new coat?”

Mum brought out from behind her a brand new yellow hunting coat.

“You should wear this one, it already has your hunting license on it,” she told him as she turned the stiff canvas jacket around to present his license.

You would have thought it was Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one. Certainly, I hadn’t acted like that when I got mine. I thought back. Oh, I was worse. At least he isn’t jumping up and down.

So ready at last the mighty hunters loaded in the car. We drove up to the field we had permission to hunt. We were the last to arrive. My four uncles and seven cousins were already there. We cousins were all within three years of each other but I was the only one that went to BHS.

Uncle Ross’s kids went to West Liberty and Wally’s to Lakeview. Uncle’s Jim and Gene only had daughters. That would be fourteen out in the field. This could be a problem unless we made a line and beat the field. There were over nine hundred acres so we were able to do that.

I made a mental note not to worry about hunting that day. I would keep an eye on everyone to make sure we all stayed in line. I mentioned that to Dad and he just nodded. To be safe I didn’t even load my Remington shotgun. It’s a 1954 model 870 12 gauge pump action called the Wingmaster.

The field we are hunting is right next to the airbase. It is on the far side of where the break-in occurred. Uncle Wally started telling everyone that he heard there was a break-in and that we almost went to war with the Russians.

Dad asked him how he knew this. Wally told us that he had been drinking down at the 151 Club on Main Street and heard a couple of Airmen talking about it.

“Wally do you mean to tell me that you believed two drunken Airmen when they told you some two-bit hood had broken into the base and it almost caused World War III,” my Dad asked?

Now, Dad’s opinion carried a lot of weight with his brothers so Wally started to hem and haw. Dad let it go. He had raised doubt in everyone’s mind. Dad turned and winked at me.

Dad announced, “Let’s get this hunt going. Rick is going to be safety officer because there are so many of us. His shotgun isn’t loaded. When Rick tells you that you are out of the line, move up or drop back. When we climb a fence he will watch you unload your shotgun before climbing. Got it?”

Everyone indicated they understood the rules of the hunt. I managed to get close enough to Uncle Wally to know that he didn’t reek of booze. Guns and alcohol don’t mix. Everyone in the family tried to work with Wally, but he was determined to go his own way. There could be no good end, but it is his life.

We started across the field. It was short hay stubble left from the harvest.

We weren’t fifty yards in when I was yelling, “Ross Junior, move up.”

Next, it was, “Jimmy slow down.”

Each looked up and got back into line. The second time junior fell behind you could hear his Dad Ross Senior chewing on him.

“Wake up and stay in line or go wait in the car,” he was told.

Junior stayed in line after that. There could be no bigger disgrace than to be sent to the car on hunting day. We got to the end of that field without kicking up any game. Heck, we had made so much noise that the game in Union County, the next county over had probably gone to cover.

At the end of the field was a fence. We had to climb over it without breaking it down. Break a farm fence and you would lose your hunting privileges real quick no matter what friend or relation you were. We decided to climb over at the corner post of the field that was the strongest portion of the fence.

I stood at the corner and watched as each hunter came up and ejected his shells. They then showed me the action had been cleared. At that point, I would gesture and they would set their shotgun over the fence at the next post down.

If they fell when they were going over the fence they wouldn’t knock over a loaded shotgun and kill themselves. This is a more common hunting accident.

Somehow we made it without anything serious. My cousin Mark did get hung up on the barbed wire but only tore his coat. I think we all had done it at one time or another. I know my coat had several patches. I did have to remind Jimmy that we didn’t retrieve our shotguns until we were all over the fence.

Once all were over shotguns retrieved and reloaded the line was reformed and we started out. I didn’t realize that rabbits could go deaf. That was the only reason I could think that the two that were kicked up were still around.